


The Times and Woes of Annatar the Wise

by Torpi



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:21:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29112975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torpi/pseuds/Torpi
Summary: An overdramatic Sauron is forced to relieve the same frustrating day over and over again, without getting closer to his goal: to finally get Celebrimbor in the forge. Unfortunately, the whole universe is against him.
Relationships: Annatar&Celebrimbor, Onesided Annatar/Ring-making
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Annatar the Wise and Benevolent’s Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a prompt idea about two years ago. Unfortunately I forgot who did it. If anybody knows where the plot-bunny of Sauron in a time-loop comes from, I would love to give credit where it's due.

Annatar wakes up from his daydream of bloody conquest and stubs his toe.

It is such an unexpected thing that for a moment every function of his hroä simply stops. Then, senses he should have neglected to form, start into overdrive and he jumps back in pain and hits a table corner with his kidneys, crushing the left one and liberating all sorts of toxins into his bloodstream. He follows the trail and spread of the waste in his body, watching as organs shut down.

His pain receptors then remind him that kidney pain is one of the worst type one could have and he howls in agony, accidentally obliterating his front wall and destroying the papers from Celebrimbor, papers he was supposed to review before `breakfast`.

He hears another ominous crash and whips his head backwards so fast he breaks his hroä’s neck, just in time to get a hard ball in the face. He hears the crunch of impact as it connects, sending his nose cartilage into the brain.

Clinically, he catalogues the fissures, the leakage seeping into his skull and pressing against his brain, shutting the remaining vital functions. An elf would have died from this attack, he muses distractedly. He changes his clothes, irritably sings away the hole in the wall and searches hopefully for the papers. They have melded into his wall. He grimaces and goes out. On his doorstep he switches to his charming persona, smiling brilliantly and benevolently to everybody and nobody, while inwardly cursing Arien for her light. He’d dearly love to take down that annoying, nosy maia.

Before he can take more than ten steps, he is stopped by a crazy ellon, who babbles at him about rats and need of sanitation, and can’t he put a good word for the rats’ protection they are living beings too, but _they_ should live in better condition, and so on. Nodding amiably, Sauron keeps part of his mind devising torture methods for this nuisance: maybe slowly flay the skin, cook it and make him eat it, take rats, since he likes them so much, and force them through his belly, slowly crush his kidneys not enough to kill him but to feel his own agonising pain from a few minutes ago and maybe flare up his pain receptors, make the nerves more sensitive and play with heat and cold perception….

At the same time, his main thoughts are giddy with the anticipation of meeting Celebrimbor, or more exactly his mind, his intricate mind. He wants to dissect it, peel it layer after layer. He wants to do it literally and figuratively. But first he must crack the access code. Celebrimbor’s mind is like a strongbox, similar to that of his father and grandfather, maybe even stronger, because he has less weaknesses, less leverage. His weak points would be in his craft, he decides, something he takes both great pride in and he respects me for as well.

Oh, what a pleasure would it be to work with a brilliant mind, slowly tease it open, lay it bare and then delicately start stripping it off, twisting it little by little, turning it so subtly he will not even be aware of what he’s doing until is too late. Turn him away from friends and family until he is alone and in his power. He imagines the look on Celebrimbor’s face when he will finally _understand,_ but he will be powerless and Sauron will see his anguish, his pain, and the mind will open to him like a flower, it will shatter easily, like an amorphous polymer at low temperature. He will rearrange parts of his mind then, will leave that spark, that craft smith spark but it will be his to order around. He grins and steps on something soft, which makes him stumble and discovers he he has let his guard down for the second time that day, and this time he had found himself in the middle of an argument. Of course Annatar the Wise gets dragged into it. He keeps character, becomes mediator and solves the conflict about the real nuance of pink on the left petal of a rock flower from a handkerchief peacefully, despite wanting to tear them both to pieces.

He thinks he’s finally free to leave but gets stopped by another random passer-by with boring lecture on some boring and trivial detail; he ignores the meaningles chatter, nods and smiles while thinking how to manipulate the council,then, when he hears a ‘I look forward to hear the results’, he realises he has agreed on something but doesn’t know _what._

Before he can figure out what he had agreed to, he gets accosted by another cheerful architect, boring _blah blah_ , then a cart overturns and fruits spill everywhere, and he has to help as he is a role model. During the fruit picking he meets a human from that little island of Númenor, who is very eager to inform him he is surgeon and forensic analyst. This sparks a mild interest from Sauron who manages to get engaged in an interesting discussion- for the human, of course, who starts asking him on how one might dispose of corpses undetected.

He finally arrives at the meeting which is of course about sewage disposal. That is useless to him so he does his best to steer it away but unfortunately they land on foreign policies, which for him right now are just as useless. His frustration mounts and he feels like banging his head on table. Annatar is quite relieved when the discussion on the best way to bribe green elves to let them cut some trees ends so he forgets what comes next. Since everybody thinks the serious meeting has finished, the meeting hall dissolves in a gossip room where the participants give the most inane news possible. This time he feels like banging everyone else’s heads together. Celebrimbor seems to be the most active participant in the idiotic bet of who will propose first to a girl, bland guy, or sub-par architect guy, and although he discreetly tries to signal him he can have a more mentally invigorating conversation if he speaks with _him_ , Annatar, Celebrimbor looks at him as if all his brain-cells have died, waves at him and _turns his back to him, continuing that discussion._

He hastily excuses himself, _and nobody is particularly interested in his leaving._ Annatar gets home frustrated, a vein throbbing in his temple. When he thinks again on that meeting, it promptly explodes, giving him a haematoma. He tsks, forcefully drains the blood through his nose, an unpleasant sensation that perfectly sums up his day and viciously vows that tomorrow he will start seriously with the plan to get Celebrimbor alone and convince him to work on a new project together.

He wakes up and stubs his toe.


	2. Annatar the Crafty's Bad Days

The same scene repeats identically, down to the exact trajectory of the ball, as well as the angle and force of impact to his face. The only difference is that he is boiling with fury. He stalks out of the house, forgoing his smile for a more neutral don’t-approach-me-if-you-want-to-live expression, then predictably, gets stopped by the same ellon. He answers curtly and quite coldly but apparently his fake persona was a bit too effective because the ellon is not intimidated in the least but trails after him, nagging him on the way.

He manages to avoid the cart accident by taking another route. To make up for it, a pipe bursts unexpectedly and he almost falls in sewage, with the annoying little elf still on his tail, asking for advice on his inane problem.

He arrives at the meeting and has to listen to the same facts regurgitated all over again. He silently fumes during the proceedings and finally pointedly makes some suggestions, and to his surprise they invent a better plumbing system with flushing toilets at greater capacity. None of those pitcher flowers available it seems, after Arien came on the scene. Unfortunately, although the meeting gets even longer, there is still time for inane news and he can’t get Celebrimbor alone **_again_**.

He gets home pissed, throws his self on the bed and waits the morning determined not to fall asleep. When he opens his eyes after blacking out, he feels a dark feeling of dread coiling from his gut. Getting up he again stubs his toe, is it a requirement he wonders, then the ball comes crashing and he manages to avoid it but not the table in his kidneys.

He gives up on the wall and door and gets out through the window, runs the rooftops at maximum speed, sneaks into the meeting and has to listen to the same literal crap all over again. He manages to get them organised better and they manage to finish the new sewage system in record time so he gets them going on gunpowder and explosives just for shits and giggles. He starts, of course, with a brilliant leading phrase to Eldrion’s question on the accumulating waste.

`What if we blow it all up?`, Annatar asks idly, calculating.

There are startled exclamations from the architects and engineers, so he elaborates magnanimously.

`Blow all the shit up`. Annatar repeats slowly and clearly.

`Literally or figuratively?`, Eldrion asks unsure if he spoke in jest or not.

`Can’t we have both?`, Annatar smiles and there’s much enthusiastic talking after that. _This_ is what he came here for, he thinks, satisfied. Maybe this time he will get out of this without further incidents. 

When everybody unanimously decides it’s still time for inane news, Annatar feels he has rejoiced too soon. His hopes soar again when Celebrimbor stops him when he discreetly excuses himself, and Annatar smiles brilliantly for the first time that day. Finally, ring talk, he hopes. He sees Celebrimbor gesturing behind him and he sees the numenorean mortal and a dwarf (that’s new), _and_ the cherry on top, the annoying elf guy, who all want him. At the same time. Celebrimbor graciously lets the guests talk with him so _of course_ there’s no time for ring talk.

He goes home, mentally realising in a hidden corner of his mind that he always seems to end the day the same way, so after he gets home he transforms into an owl and goes out to spy on Celebrimbor, hoping to catch him alone. He doesn’t get even close to his forges. On the way he almost gets caught by three different kids, is almost killed by randomly thrown balls (what was with their enthusiasm with balls? he wonders irritably. Throwing freshly cut heads from your enemies was much more classy), is almost made into a pet, and narrowly eschews being drowned then fried in a record span of ten seconds. He had no idea the city could be this dangerous when they weren’t even trying to kill him.

He somehow returns back to his home, blacks out, gets up the next morning, and stubs his toe. This time he tries to mimic first day while thinking punishments for those who had done this to him. In their absence, the living beings around him would do.

The same day repeats for a hundred times and his temper gets more and more frayed. Soon, his Annatar mask will crack and he doesn’t really care anymore. To calm himself he thinks up tortures, tries everything, going along, going the opposite of his previous actions, but nothing works. The first ellon he meets that morning gets a special vow of revenge sooner or later, for his sheer level of annoyingness

On the one thousand and one day, he wakes up, eyes golden red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next:  
>  Annatar no-more-the-Benevolent, is not in the mood for games anymore, and is most probably looking for an outlet.


	3. Sauron the Despicable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron takes out his frustrations on the first person he comes across.
> 
> Rated S from Sauron.

He gets out after perfunctorily breezing through the usual small annoyances: toe, kidney, ball to the face, then gets to work.

Arien is more than halfway done with her way upon the sky when Naustavil wakes up in an unknown part of the sewers, in a small cramped room. Water droplets make for a lovely sound in the darkness, but there is something wrong in the shape of the darkness around him.

The golden glow of a lantern, as well as the dark silhouette idly arranging some instruments make him remember. Annatar had smiled when Naustavil told him about the problem he had remarked in the sewer system. He had smiled and had taken Naustavil’s shoulders and professed he needs to hear more, and he had been so relieved, so excited to have the ear of such an esteemed person, he had launched in a detailed explanation and Annatar had nodded wisely, kindly, intently, had asked pertinent questions, made suggestions, and when Naustavil timidly, then with greater confidence, started to expose his own ideas, Annatar sincerely congratulated him on his ideas and suggested they go _immediately_ and make some tests. 

He is tied with hard, rough, unyielding ropes that seem to burn his skin as if he struggled mightily to get away. The skin on the inside of his arms, on his chest, his belly and his hands burns painfully. His left eye has been crushed. 

Annatar turns back to him, smiling the same friendly smile he had in the light. The play of shadows does not distort it in the least, but instead magnifies it, painfully bright and benevolent. ‘You fainted for quite a long time, so I had to call you back`, he tells him, approaching at a sedate pace, then leans and gently blows on his burns. The air is boiling hot and Naustavil writhes and screams and screams until he can’t make a sound anymore only choked, ragged gasps. He is choking on his own blood, having bitten his cheeks, his tongue, his own lips off during the torture. His eyes glaze back and Annatar tutts disapprovingly at the almost catatonic state of his prisoner, deadens his nerves, forces him to drink an anesthetic, and cleans his mouth carefully, stopping the bleeding.

`Do you feel better now?` He asks sweetly, stroking the back of Naustavil’s head, then gently cradling it in his arms in a mockery of a parent’s embrace and whispers on his burns again, this time his breath cool and soothing against the burns.

`Don’t worry, we’ll start again soon with something new. That was getting old. Boring, for you too, I’m sure. I wonder, what other reactions I can get from you?`, he asks idly, his fingers running through Naustavil’s dark hair, slick with blood and sweat. It rips painfully at times, since the fingers do not stop when they encounter a snarl.

The fingers stop and retreat. Naustavil breaths painfully, tense, waiting for the new horror to begin. His jump at hearing a weak meow is arrested by the ropes.

‘Such a devoted cat’, Annatar’s smiling voice floats from the side, teeth sharp in the darkness. `Should I torture it or you?` He asks, holding it by the scruff of its neck.

Naustavil looks incomprehensibly at him.

`Should I strangle it’, he asks, idly scratching the cat under its chin. ‘Or drown it, I suppose’, he says bopping her nose gently. ‘Cut its whiskers, or crush its eyeballs’, he continues thoughtfully, ‘or maybe skin it alive then throw it to the rats`. At each idea, he gently pulls on the cat's whiskers, pets her neck, runs his finger next to her eyes, runs his palm on her spine and makes her arch in pleasure. ‘So, what do you choose for her to take instead of you?’, he asks, dangling his cat in front of his eyes. `All these are things that will not happen to you`. 

`Don’t do it`, Naustavil begs, nauseous.

`Don’t do what?`, Annatar asks, feigning incomprehension.

`Please stop`, the prisoner gasps.

`Are you begging?`, Annatar asks him intently, eyes burning painfully bright.

At Naustavil’s silence he shakes his head.

`So-so. Not as defiant or as strong as others. But still not cowed enough`.

`Torture me!`, Naustavil screams, eyes wild.

`With pleasure. So gallant of you to save a cat. It is just a cat you know. Nothing heroic about saving that. Although, I’ll do that anyway`, he says smiling. `But first I’ll make you watch the cat, of course`. He says, gleefully. `Maybe even let you join in on the fun`, he adds, cheerily.

`Never!`, Naustavil shouts, furiously. 

`Is your fiance still making you those scrumptious coffee cakes I wonder?, He asks him in fake curiosity, and the prisoner freezes. Finally. He saw there’s no escape. 

He approaches Naustavil, gently takes his fingers, numb with a local anaesthetic from the burns, and methodically breaks all the fingers from his left hand. Nasutavil finds he still has in himself to scream, his voice hoarse and cracking. 

`Next question`, Annatar continues, critically inspecting the damage then cracking his fingers back together painfully. ‘The cat or her? Will you torture the cat for her? Or watch them both being tortured by me?’

‘You don’t have her!’ The prisoner shouts, trying to hope, to believe. But Sauron had managed to put the seed of doubt inside. He only has to let it grow.

‘Are you ready to stake her life on that?’ He asks sweetly, stroking his fingers and checking if he can move them. The fingers are swollen, burnt angry red with boils that have burst open from his previous attentions. 

The prisoner hisses in pain, agony twisting his features. Annatar can almost see what more conditioning will make him look like in the future, a thing bent to his will.

‘I am not crass. I will not insist. If you didn’t want to do it, I’ll take it’, hesays in a sincere tone and prepares to leave.

‘Wait!’, Naustavil gasps. **‘** I- I’ll do it’, he says.

‘Wonderful. Be careful not to kill it quickly; if you bore me I might change my mind about your lady friend, Insile. He chuckles when he sees Naustavil pale even further at him using their secret epessë.

He lets him free and Naustavil kills the cat with a quick snap of its neck then looks at him defiantly. Sauron laughs.

‘You don’t have her!’ The prisoner tells him, trying to sound confident, trembling. ‘You wouldn’t have made all that fuss if you had her’. 

He lovingly cradles his cat and sobs. Annatar takes it from him and looks at the lifeless corpse critically. ‘I quite like cats, you know. I probably wouldn’t have killed her. She had such nice fur. Now you can have a nice cap’, he adds as if struck with a genius idea, skins the cat and throws its bloody skin on Naustavil’s head, using the legs to tie it under his chin.

‘You are quite sure I don’t have her’, Sauron tells him, tying the legs as strings, while Naustavil frantically shakes his head and curses him.

‘You must be hungry since you haven’t eaten anything the whole day. Here’, he says then turns and negligently and throws him a head. The eyes are hollowed out, the hair is chopped, partially scalped, the tongue and lips cut, taken out, broken, cheeks ripped .

The prisoner screams and his wails are true music at last.

‘Now’, Annatar continues cheerily, ‘do you want to guess who _else_ do I have here?’

The prisoner’s eyes widen in horror, anguish, the last remnants of hope leaving his eyes. Annatar’s grin widens, teeth razor- sharp.

‘I might be bluffing, of course’, he adds nonchalantly. ‘What are you going to stake on it? A corpse’s pride?’ 

The ellon doesn’t move.

‘You cannot die yet’, Annatar tells him patiently. ‘I am keeping your mind focused here’, he says and preses on his ribcage and the pain shooting through his nerves anchors Naustavil again in the present.

‘Are you going to cut her cheeks and eat them? Or should I give you some fresh ones from your friend? He is still alive’.

Nastavil’s expression flickers between pain, rage and sorrow, and he snaps, cursing him wildly, violently, all previous restraint gone.

‘A simple yes or no would suffice’, Annatar replies in a bored tone. ‘I have a schedule and I plan on keeping to it’. 

Naustavil ignores him, his screaming invectives getting louder and louder to drown his voice.

`No? Too bad then Surion was happy enough to carve her face. If only you had done the same, you would have saved both of you. As it stands`, he continues in the same even tone, ignoring the prisoner's cries and demands for explanations, curses and the disbelieving, more and more unsure defence of his friend, he deadens his pain receptors again and takes him by the arm, `you will see each-other any maybe share some thought`.

The prisoner is too tired to protest and remains limp while he is dragged to another corridor. They arrive at a door and Annatar unlocks it with a word.

`Here we are`, he says, gesturing grandly. `Meet your friend`. Then he pushes Naustavil inside.

The cell is empty.

`You lied!`, the prisoners says sounding relieved.

`Maybe`, Sauron replies unconcerned. `Nevertheless, you will remain here, slowly dying of hunger and thirst, never again to see the light of the stars, under unhewn stones, forgotten. I will make sure you won’t die that easily. I will keep you company`, he promises. `And when you forget all about the stars, when you hate the light, when you hate your own family, your friends, your own name, I will let you meet them again. I promise`, he says and leaves the room, closing the door.

`Am I not a kind master?` He asks wickedly through the small grille of the door.

The screams that follow him, buoying him on his way back do not sound elvish any more.

The next morning, of course, he stubs his toe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naustavil means “innocent”.


	4. Annatar the Gallant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annatar changes tactics and makes some bad poetry.

After 2000 more loops, not even that gives him any satisfaction anymore; there’s only so much you can do in a short day. Naustavil still stops him every morning, fresh and springy like clockwork no matter how much he curses him the day before. The difference is that he is now also accompanied by a bard, with a bad sense of humour and harder to shake than a starving leech. He had tried to get the bard in his dungeon but the slippery eel has evaded all possible attacks, even in days where he had thrown it all to the north wind and started a murder spree on the city streets.

He also meets other strange men, a man and a younger girl, who are also looking for something but are not sure what. He realises he must help them advance but has no idea what to do. They keep dying every day. He alternatively kills them or helps them but the end result is always the same. With or without his intervention, by some freak accident they always die. He starts to feel his pride wounded and so decides to help them once and for all. He tries to get them on the same path as him, to Celebrimbor’s forge, feeling that if he puts enough threads well, he might get out of this. He feels victorious when they finally get to the door of the forge. They promptly die because the roof collapses on them.

‘Why are they so fragile?’, he screams in frustration and destroys some walls.

* * *

Annatar still can’t properly talk with Celebrimbor and his mask is slipping more and more. He kills the noldor prince in some loops out of frustration, but he soon gives up. Celebrimbor is too tough a nut to crack in one day, and he got more annoyed than his prisoner the whole time he tortured him. Dissatisfied, he gives up and resigns himself to taunt him here and there.

He accidentally reveals himself to Celebrimbor one day while cutting his hand and dangling it in his face. 

Little Fingon got three hands

Finrod one

Maedhros got none.

Celebrimbor looks at him coolly, unimpressed with being crippled. 

‘I keep repeating a loop where my city is destroyed the day after tomorrow, thus I have no thought of entertaining your fantasies. You have no business in that, anyway’, he tells Annatar in a measured, disgusted tone.

Annatar leans forward, eager, forgetting his plans to flay Celebrimbor’s smug face off. ‘You are in a loop as well? We should join forces! I will help you’, he promises. 

Celebrimbor, eyes blazing furiously, painfully bright, refuses.

‘I will not let myself close to you, Sauron,’ he hisses. 

‘My loop is earlier’, Sauron points out, ignoring the appellative. ‘My solving this could be your way of solving yours’.

‘Never! I cannot do anything about you now, but after I get out of this loop I will have you chased out!’

‘You did not think of that when I told you all I could teach you’, Annatar tells him accusingly. ‘How does it feel to welcome the one who killed your family? I had your uncles, I had-‘ he stops. ‘But this matters not now’, he continues in a persuasive voice. ‘Think about it. I am not the black lieutenant for nothing. I am good at what I do. I could help you.’

‘You only think of saving your own skin, you subpar smith! The rings  _ thou  _ make are worse than those made by a blind atani who chases goats for a living!  _ Thou _ venomed flap-mouthed contriver. I will never accept  _ thou _ help if _thou_ were the last living being left in this city! Now get out!`

` _ Thou _ , is it?` Sauron says through clenched teeth. `How close we are`, he continues mockingly then leaves, throwing another verse in parting.

Little Fingon got three hands

Little Finrod one

Maedhros got none.

But their nephew got them all

Applause, Celebrimbor,

You managed to kill all.

**_‘OUT_ ** !’ Shouts Celebrimbor, with enough force to blow the doors off their hinges. 

* * *

`Not a saviour?`, Annatar thinks, boiling with fury. He will save this pathetic lot, and they will be forced to thank him, even as they know of his deeds. He vows to be the one to save them, to rub it in their faces. He files away the new information he has on Celebrimbor and gets to work. This time, he doesn’t waste time on torture.

The next loop when he gets accosted by Naustavir, he tells him succintly: `If you don’t want me to torture you into insanity again, shut up` and leaves muttering, `I will save you all, ungrateful worms, and I will laugh at you. Saved by your enemy. You’ll crawl in the dirt and kiss my feet`.

He hunts for clues, but cannot find many. Spies would have been so much better, he thinks irritated. He forcefully takes the humans into his room so they don’t die and suddenly his house collapses. The next day he marches them to the forge and starts teaching them jewelry making, deaf to their protests. Jewelry making solves a lot of problems, he tells them categorically and they have to obey. So refreshing. 

After a couple hundred tries, he gives up on them as well. The bling starts to annoy him and he gets to the council with a prepared speech against jewels, which makes everybody think he’s losing his mind. The concerned looks thrown his way (except for Celebrimbor, of course, they both remember everything perfectly) only serve to make him madder.

He still stubs his toe every morning one way or another and every path he takes ends in literal dead-ends. Celebrimbor is supremely unhelpful and makes it very clear that while he wants to keep an eye on him, he does not tolerate Annatar going closer to him. Others also start to see this trend, but since things keep repeating, the consequences never arrive. 

He starts new projects just to see how much elves can do in a day about the advancement of weapons of mass destruction. Soon, the elves discover nitro-glycerine and azidoazide azide, and Celebrimbor finally moves enough to spite him and suggests making jewellery with it, of course. This sparks a series of discoveries that goes way out of his hands, the noldor being noldor trying to out master him and each other.

He finally gives up on Celebrimbor, ignores everybody and goes directly to smithy and starts working on the thing he had wanted from the beginning, pouring all his will, frustration and passion for work into it. He makes a couple of rings and feels immensely better. He falls asleep in the forge and wakes up the next day still there. 

Relieved, he goes out and gives the rings as presents to the first persons he comes across. Thus he accidently gifts them to the annoying elf Naustavil, the bard, the numenorean and the dwarf.

The next day, he wakes up four days earlier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absurd humour, funny surface with a really dark underbelly, like he guy who always comes to him despite being tortured, Annatar getting more and more unhinged (things that don't make sense between words and actions are on purpose), the bad poetry! The utter futility of one's actions...
> 
> Celebrimbor is very polite. You can see where he snaps by the change in pronouns. Many thanks to the SGW discord server that gave me the idea.
> 
> Azidoazide azide- really unstable compond, explodes if you look at it funny.


	5. Annron’s Noble Quest Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron manages to get out of his time loop and lands in Celebrimbor’s, which starts four days earlier.

He storms out livid, marches up to Celebrimbor, takes him by the collar and drags him out. ‘To the forge`, he barks thunderously. Celebrimbor tries to free himself but Annatar simply throws him on his shoulder and strides toward the forges. He does not hide himself now. Power and fury roll from him in waves.

The guards follow him and prepare to attack but behind him, Celebrimbor makes some gestures so the guards simply start following at a wary distance. He throws them all a haughty look nevertheless. `No need to worry unduly, I only need your lord for an overdue assignment. He is in good hands`, he adds meaningfully. 

The wind is knocked out of his sails when he gets at the main forge whose doors are closed and protected with spells, not easily broken. He puts Celebrimbor down and gestures to the doors.

`Open them please`, he says politely.

Celebrimbor looks at him, eyes blazing with fury and spits his next words through clenched teeth. `If you think I will let you step inside my workshop, _thou_ viperous misbegotten-divel, _thou_ are mistaken. I will kill _thou_ first.`

`How quaint`. Annatar hisses. `We should talk inside. If you don’t open the doors now`, he says in a low voice, leaning with an earnest expression for the bystanders benefit, `I will show you **exactly** why it would be a bad idea to cross me at this very moment. That little explosion you dread so much would be nothing`.

He looks intently at Celebrimbor’s hard face. `Aren’t we friends?` Sauron adds, smiling.

Celebrimbor spits in his face then whirls around and commands the doors to open.

They enter and Annatar is immediately assaulted and thrown into a wall. Celebrimbor takes a big pair of oil pliers (what does he need _those_ for?) and turns to him furiously. `The walls are thick and sturdy. Should I see how _thou_ feel when I rip that lying tongue out of _thy_ mouth? Or should I make _thou_ remember how it was when Huan bit _thy_ neck off?` he bites though gritted teeth, coming closer, taking his neck in the cold embrace of the pliers.

Annatar smiles, raises his arms and puts his palms flat on either side of Celebrimbor’s ribcage and the ellon stills, wary. He had not foreseen this. Annatar slowly moves his fingers up and down, as if he’s counting his ribs and Celebrimbor finds he cannot breathe. Annatar smiles and tweaks his nose in a mock affectionate gesture he knows Curufin did to his son.

`I have much more experience in tweaking bodies than you, child`, he tells him in an amused voice. `Try to challenge me in something you are better at, smithing or jewel-making. Try to have at least a chance of winning`, he adds grinning widely, and finally releases his hold. The iron band that seemed to hold his ribcage loosens and Celebrimbor can finally breathe again.

`At _least_ a chance?` Celebrimbor asks in a measured tone. `I have a much better chance than _thou_ , Gorthaur!`

`And it would be good to choose the thing you are best at`, Annatar agrees affably. His fingers pass over Celebrombor’s unfinished projects appraisingly. Outstanding work.

`Don’t touch my projects`, he hears Celebrombor’s dangerous tone.

Sauron turns back to him and bows mockingly. `As my lord commands`, he says, lip curling.


End file.
